


Phoenix Down: Sidequests

by notaverse



Series: Phoenix Down [17]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Addiction, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Gore, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Praise, Sharing a Bed, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaverse/pseuds/notaverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Generic fic to store sidequests for the Phoenix Down series - each one will be a new chapter, so check the individual chapters for details. Unless stated otherwise, these all take place in the aftermath of the battle from the previous part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only the Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lu Han might have lost himself many times over, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from the Roy Orbison song.

Lu Han's been accused of being empty-headed before - by his friends, in jest; by his father, in all seriousness. The accusation has always slid off him, because it's not true.

At least, it never used to be. Nothing describes his head so well as the word 'empty' right now. Wide, open spaces, where there used to be a whole crowd of other selves, other lives, all being lived at once and clamouring for his attention. He never thought he'd miss them, the way they crept around the edges of his consciousness, each one willing to step up for its turn in the spotlight if he'd only let it in. 

But he does. 

He'd been able to ignore it in the chaos that had followed their return to the _Highwind_ , since the only thing any of them could spare a thought for at the time was getting rid of all the monsters, but the battle's over now and the emptiness is practically screaming at him. The only thing louder is Jongin fussing over him.

"Are you sure you don't want anything for your side?" Jongin asks again. It had been cute, the first two or three times, but enough is enough.

"They're just bruises," Lu Han says, fighting to keep the irritation from his voice since he knows Jongin's only doing this because he cares. "Not holes. I'm not about to die on you, I promise."

He thinks they all emerged from the battle fairly well, under the circumstances. Only Chanyeol had suffered major injury, a situation Yixing's new materia had remedied; the rest of them had merely come out exhausted in various flavours of battered and bruised. While they're up in the air, looking for a safer place to land and make repairs, everyone who can is taking advantage of the time to rest. 

And since they're airborne, Lu Han's not setting foot outside Jongin's cabin if he can help it. Or _their_ cabin now, really, since he sees no reason to go find another one for himself. The bed's not massive, but they know from last night that they can both fit without too much discomfort. It's not as though they're going to be moving around much. He feels like he could sleep for a week, which means Jongin probably feels like he could sleep for a year. 

That suits Lu Han just fine. They can curl up together on the bed and go to sleep, and Lu Han won't have to be alone.

"But you could now, couldn't you?" Jongin says, clearly unhappy. "Die, I mean. Just like the rest of us."

"I probably always could have." Lu Han never has, and he's not sure what would've happened if one of his bodies had died, but he's content not knowing. "It doesn't matter now."

"Of course it matters! Because now you have to be careful, and you're _never_ careful, and-"

Lu Han cuts him off. "We're running out of time to be careful."

"You can't save the world if you're dead," Jongin says, stubbornly, and Lu Han thinks that's kind of unfair, given Sehun's situation.

Not that the rest of them aren't in a similar situation, really, given that they now have their memories back. The extra memories aren't quite intrusive enough to compensate for the lack of selves - they have a different, completed quality about them. The past is over, and each time he dredges up a little piece of it, it's with the knowledge that he's not that person anymore and there's nowhere left for that person to go.

His other selves, however... They're all who he is now - or they were, before they were silenced. He is all the bodies he's ever had, with all their experiences. All the monsters they'd fought, all the people they'd met. All the places they'd explored. He'd soaked up each new experience like a sponge, taking it into himself and knowing that he wasn't yet done, that there was more still to come. He wasn't _finished_.

This body isn't finished either, but oh, he can't keep himself from thinking of it as just one of many, no matter how ridiculous it seems now. There are no other Lu Hans and this is all he's got left - himself. The real thing, here in person. His own body, reaching out to clasp Jongin's hand for the first time. _Everything_ is for the first time. His first real fight (trading punches with his classmates back in Deling City doesn't count) and his first real kiss (once he's had some sleep, because his vision's so blurry at the moment that he's likely to miss Jongin altogether and end up kissing the pillow). 

It's thrilling, but also terrifying. "I'm not going to die," Lu Han says, trying to reassure Jongin, but he can't guarantee that anymore and even to his own ears, he doesn't sound convincing. Staying alive in this world isn't as simple as checking for oncoming traffic before he crosses the road, or not falling down the stairs. It's going to require considerably more effort.

He's expended enough effort for one day. He rolls over to his back, letting his entire body go limp. Having a magic sword doesn't exempt the wielder from the consequences of its use, and he's having trouble coming to terms with the idea that the soreness in his muscles won't simply vanish when he disappears _because he's not going to disappear_. A hot shower hadn't helped; he'd stayed under the spray just long enough to wash away the blood and stepped aside for Jongin to take his own brief turn in the stall. Clean clothing is in short supply at the moment, especially for the former Summons - only Chanyeol had had the opportunity to bring luggage through - and Lu Han hasn't bothered to borrow anything to sleep in. It isn't as though he has anything to hide from Jongin.

"I'm going to _try_ not to die," Lu Han amends, closing his eyes. "That's the best I can do. But you have to try too, because I can't show up in a suit of armour to save you anymore."

Jongin pokes him in the arm, either accidentally or intentionally catching one of the bruises there, and Lu Han grins despite Jongin's exasperated tone. "Do you honestly think I still need saving?" 

"Only once in a while. Doesn't stop me wanting to do it, though." They protect each other, in truth, in this life and the last, and with Jongin's new materia, he's got more options for putting some distance between himself and anything he can't handle. He can even send _Lu Han_ off to safety, if need be, and that's something he's never been able to do before.

Too bad there's nowhere safe to go. There are many places in this world where Lu Han's never been and it's a pity that now he's finally untethered from his materia and can go where he pleases, he's likely to encounter only death and despair. Not much prospect for a relaxing holiday, or a second actual date with Jongin.

"I remember when you were better at getting me into trouble than out of it."

"Me? Get you into trouble? Never," Lu Han says airily. "You must be thinking of Sehun. In which case you should stop. No one should ever think of Sehun."

He's only joking, of course. Sehun and Jongin had already been thick as thieves when he met them for the first time - the two youngest of the Tree of Life's guardians - and he'd no more try to come between them than he'd let anyone come between himself and Minseok. That doesn't mean he can't tease.

Jongin sighs, and Lu Han feels the dip of the mattress as Jongin turns to curl in against him. He's also wearing nothing but bruises, warm against Lu Han's skin. "I don't know _what_ to think of Sehun. Now I can remember him, he's not the same. I guess he led a pretty different life this time around."

"I'm sure we all did, and I'm also sure getting his memory back by returning from the dead didn't help. That doesn't mean you can't still be friends?"

"It's not that we can't be friends, it's just...all mixed up. Jokes we used to share, places we used to go. Stuff like that, only none of it fits because he seems older now."

"This Sehun grew up on the poorest street in Wutai, fending for himself at a young age - doing what he had to for survival, same as you." If not in quite the same way. Lu Han can't picture Sehun selling his body. Jongin gives - or rather, he allows others to take from him, remaining as detached as he can to obtain what he needs. Sehun takes. "Last time, he grew up in a family that could afford to keep him. If one of the elders hadn't spotted him trying out rudimentary Wind magic while he was out with friends and tried to recruit him then and there, he might never have become a guardian."

"I don't know if I remember that. It's all tangled up."

"There are things in my head that are tangled up too." Lu Han cranes his neck to plant a light kiss on Jongin's forehead. "We could try to help each other untangle them?"

"Do you mean- Oh!" Jongin catches on, the haziness in his mind parting as Lu Han slides in, Jongin taking shape beside him.

It's a relief to Lu Han that he can still do this. The materia had been his link to this world before, and with that gone, he'd been afraid that no longer being physically tied to Jongin through the equipped materia would sever their telepathic link. They hadn't needed materia in the past, however, and they'd learned in the underground cavern that they no longer need it now.

In Jongin's mind, they're surrounded by memories. Thousands, maybe millions of fragments, all pieces in search of a puzzle to which they can belong. Stacks of them form unstable-looking walls; others drift through the air in a lazy fashion, sometimes alone, sometimes already joined to other pieces. It's a messy, if understandable, representation of the jumble of memories with which they have been left.

Lu Han catches one of the larger pieces as it flies past his legs. It's almost complete, with a small gap where a head would be. He studies it carefully: someone cuddling a poodle with a possessive grip. It's easy to tell who it's supposed to be, thanks to the gold bracelet around the wrist.

"This one's Zitao," he says, and without warning, another puzzle piece swoops in to fill the remaining gap. The entire memory rises from his hands, growing and filling out as it goes. It's not just a flat screen that hangs before them - it's three-dimensional, would be almost lifelike, were it not for the muted colours. The gold of the bracelet is less shiny than Lu Han recalls; there's a dullness to Zitao's usual healthy glow. Entranced, they watch it play out.

_Zitao pets the poodle in his lap, pressing kisses to the top of her tiny head and stroking a finger under her chin. "She's like a little ball of candy floss, right? You should call her Candy!"_

_Arms reach out to take the squirming bundle of pale fluff away from him. Zitao pouts, but releases her into her daddy's affectionate embrace._

_"You don't get to name my kids! When you get your own, you can call her Candy."_

_"I would've if you hadn't adopted all the baker's extra puppies already," Zitao protests. "Now I'll have to wait until someone else's dog gives birth, and who knows how long that will be!"_

_"Well..." Jongin loosens his grip on his 'kid'; she jumps down from his lap and paws at Zitao until he picks her up again. "I guess you can share Jjangah for now. But you don't get to rename her, okay? I'm her daddy."_

_"I'll be a good uncle," Zitao promises, but as Jongin walks away and the sound fades out, he adds: "to Candy!"_

_"Jjangah!"_

"Cute," Lu Han says, the memory fading as he speaks. "I didn't know the two of you bickered over her name."

"He never did get a dog of his own," Jongin says wistfully. "There wasn't time before...you know."

Before they all died. Not a memory Lu Han is keen to see played out in Jongin's mind. He watches other fragments as they drift past him, hoping not to see anything too traumatic. Jongin starts to reach out for another puzzle that appears to be nearly complete, then lets his hand drop when it joins up with a couple of missing pieces and tidies itself away into a stack.

"If we leave them alone for long enough, you think they'll finish assembling themselves?"

Lu Han shrugs. "It's been a few weeks for Sehun and he says he's still scrambled in places, but eventually, maybe? It might happen faster if we can fill in some of the gaps for each other." He spreads his arms wide, indicating the stacks and swirls of memories surrounding them. "It's impossible to tell if there's anything in here that you urgently need to remember, though."

"I'm not sure petty arguments with Zitao are going to help us save the world," Jongin agrees.

He meets Lu Han's eyes, and then the memories are spinning away in a whirl of colour, leaving only the darkness behind Lu Han's closed eyelids, back on the bed. Lu Han doesn't open them. They feel like they weigh ten times more than they did a couple of hours ago. It's nice and all, curling up with Jongin like this, but he really needs to sleep. Even mental exertion is sapping his energy.

"Is that how they look inside your mind too?" Jongin asks aloud, voice soft and weary. "Like so many jigsaw puzzles?"

"Maybe." Lu Han's resorting to mumbling now. It's too much effort to enunciate properly. "Go take a look if you want; I'm going to sleep."

It's not something Jongin's done in this lifetime, though Lu Han now remembers him doing it in the past. Jongin will speak to him mind-to-mind from the surface layer, sometimes with pictures to accompany the words; he hasn't shown any inclination to invite himself further in, down into the memories, the way Lu Han has done to him. Lu Han doesn't know if it's that he's unwilling to risk losing himself in an unfamiliar space, or politely waiting for an invitation. 

"I want to sleep too." Jongin runs his thumb over Lu Han's wrist in a slow, tender motion. "I'll just...take a quick peek..."

There's a slight buzz at the edge of Lu Han's consciousness. It's a little like the nagging of one of his selves, but he knows that's not a possibility anymore. It's Jongin, tiptoeing inside, finding his way through the now-familiar layer of surface thoughts and into the deeper realms beneath. He's cautious, taking it slow. Lu Han can feel him there: not as an intruder, but as a welcome visitor, one who can freely access anything he chooses to investigate because at this point Lu Han has no secrets left to keep and he can't think of anything inside his head that he'd be upset by Jongin seeing. He's not going in to keep an eye on him. 

"They're books," Jongin's awed whisper ripples through his mind. "Stories written down in books, only some of them have words missing. Look!"

An image flashes behind Lu Han's eyes, so vivid and familiar that it makes his heart ache. _Leaves of Life. His bookshop. Home._ His memories, depicted as shelf after shelf of books. Open books, lying on the counter with half their words missing, the blanks being filled by an invisible hand in careful penmanship. He's always wanted to take Jongin there and watch his face light up with joy at the sight of so many new novels to read. This isn't quite the same thing, but it's all he can offer. That road is closed to him forever.

It's not surprising, perhaps, that Lu Han's mind has chosen to organise itself in this way. There are still books that Jongin can read, if he chooses, only the contents are fact rather than fiction - if no less fantastic. A contented hum, somewhere in Lu Han's mind, suggests that Jongin may be doing exactly that, at least until he falls asleep.

Lu Han's okay with that. Jongin's presence in his mind is warm and comfortable, intimate in a way having his separate selves crowding in hadn't been. After all, when all the people in his head had been Lu Han himself, there had been no need for trust. At root, everyone had been the same. 

Jongin is different. Jongin is love, and trust, and friendship, and laughter, and a shared past both wonderful and tragic. Jongin is an entirely separate person, one Lu Han chooses to let share his space both physically and mentally. There are no other Lu Hans now, but there is a Jongin, and Lu Han knows that if he wants Jongin with him, Jongin will always be there, filling those empty spaces in his mind.

Lu Han might have lost himself many times over, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone.


	2. Salve and Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things Yixing can't heal, and then there are some that he _won't_ heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Kitten for name suggestions! <3
> 
> Please note that the 'minor character death' tag applies to this chapter, concerning an original female character. It shouldn't come as a surprise, as it's been mentioned throughout the series, but if you'd prefer to avoid it at all costs, you won't really be missing out on any plot by skipping this one (just some nice friendshippy bits with Yixing and various other people on the airship). Segments in the past use 'Lay' rather than 'Yixing', as he didn't know his real name at that point.

Yixing's seen a variety of illnesses and injuries over the course of his life. Back in Mideel, volunteering at the clinic, it had been children with scraped knees and grandparents with bad hips; since leaving home, it's been more like bullet holes and broken bones, with the odd stab wound for colour. Finding his Restore materia had allowed him to upgrade from applying plasters and changing bandages to knitting bone and sealing skin. He's had plenty of practice. Using Restore properly requires a delicate touch, a careful direction of healing power to the affected areas.

Unfortunately, looking at Chanyeol, the affected areas appear to be _everywhere_.

"Can you do anything? Is it too late?" Jongin frets, no doubt berating himself for not being faster to teleport Yixing up to the deck. 

"His pulse is weak, but it's there," Yixing says, his fingers pressed to Chanyeol's wrist. It's a good thing he's not squeamish about blood - there's not much visible skin that isn't smeared in a mix of red and purple. At least the purple blood isn't Chanyeol's, and it doesn't seem to have any corrosive properties. He sets Chanyeol's wrist down as gently as he can. "I should be able to help him."

The airship turns, more of a lurch than anything else. Yixing has to grab for his staff, now missing Minseok's Summon materia but with the addition of a shiny new Fullcure materia, before it can roll away. With the patches of missing railings, courtesy of Kris's tail, it's probably not a good idea to stay up on deck any longer than necessary. This much damage won't heal in an instant.

"Jongin, can you-" he begins, but a groan from behind has him pausing and turning to look.

It's Kris, slowly regaining consciousness after his dramatic collapse by Chanyeol. Yixing gives him a quick visual once-over, recalling that the transformation back to human usually brings with it a full recovery from any injuries. Kris will be okay.

Yixing tries again. "Jongin, can you take us to my cabin? I can't treat Chanyeol up here while we're in the air."

"What about Kris?" Jongin asks, looking down at where Kris's eyes are fluttering closed again.

"He'll be fine - he's got a hard head. Just send him to bed and let him sleep it off."

Jongin vanishes for a minute to visit their cabins for familiarity, and then the entire deck vanishes. Yixing's not sure being teleported will ever feel natural to him but it certainly is convenient. He reappears in his cabin, Chanyeol prone on the floor at his feet. Another second and Chanyeol's been whisked up onto the bed, bleeding all over a large blue towel that Jongin must've put there before collecting them. At least, Yixing doesn't remember leaving a towel on his bed, though he wouldn't rule it out entirely.

He tells Jongin it's okay for him to go, so that Jongin can go move Kris and stop hovering anxiously next to the bed, and he does. Yixing perches on the edge of the bed, fingers clenched around his staff, thinking how much worse Chanyeol's injuries look now that they're away from the blood-stained deck and monster corpses, where the gore had fit right in. Will Restore be enough? He knows now - _remembers_ \- that in the past, his natural healing powers had been magnified greatly in his unicorn form, and he'd been able to make use of that in Nibelheim.

But in Nibelheim, he'd been on the verge of death himself. The transformation had been beyond his control. It had taken him months to master in the past; he doesn't fancy his chances of being able to pull it off now. Not wearied from fighting, and confused from two sets of memories. Magic doesn't work the same way in this world. Instead of pouring his own magic into the body of another, he acts as a channel for the materia's stored magic; that's what's missing, the tingle of power beneath his skin, an ancient strength buried in his bones. 

Without that, he doesn't know where to start - and it's that lack of certainty that convinces him not to waste time trying to transform. 

Materia it is. He lowers his staff until the materia slots are poised just over Chanyeol's back. Chanyeol's lack of motion is not a good sign, but it does, at least, help Yixing in his work. Healing magic is so much easier for him to direct when his patient actually stays still...

*****

Chocobos, in Lay's limited experience, are not good at keeping still even when there's nowhere for them to go. He'd known something was wrong when this one hadn't tried to run away as they'd approached it. It had continued to lie quietly beneath the thick canopy of the trees, making mournful "kweh" noises to itself, all but ignoring the two humans until they were practically beside it.

It hadn't been until they'd knelt down on the forest floor to examine it that the bird had really registered their presence, flapping its useless wings in agitation. 

"Easy, easy," Lanying says, her voice low and soothing as she shuffles around beside the chocobo, one hand outstretched over its neck. "We're not here to hurt you; we've come to help."

It's the same voice she uses at the clinic: gentle and reassuring, so the patients know they have nothing to fear from her and will be in good hands, despite her youth. She's not a doctor yet, not like her father, but she will be one day, and Lay couldn't be more proud of her. However, it's usually her mother, Mideel's only vet, who ministers to chocobos and their ilk. They can't possibly carry the large, flightless bird all the way back through the forest to be seen by her.

It wouldn't be able to make it there on foot, either. Lay's no vet, but even he can see the bird's upper left leg is discoloured, a wide patch darker than the rest.

"Do you think it's broken?" he asks Lanying.

She leaves off petting the bird to peer down at the bruise. "That is most likely. We would otherwise be sitting here choking on the dust it left in its wake as it ran away."

Not an appealing thought. Lay feels sorry for the injured chocobo, but also, in a way, grateful. He doesn't dare try out his Restore materia on humans yet, and this looks to be a step up from the wounds he's healed so far (a rabbit missing a tuft of hair, and a dog with a small cut on one ear). While it's still a risk, it's the only way he's going to learn, the same as a surgeon performing their first surgery. 

He rotates the brown leather band on his wrist so the green Restore materia set in a metal slot faces outwards. It keeps slipping; the band's a little on the loose side. The previous owner, whoever they'd been, had evidently had larger wrists than him. He'll have to find some more suitable housing for the orb if he's going to use it regularly. The important thing, as he understands it, is that the materia is equipped in something he keeps in close proximity to himself.

It also helps him focus. He slides the band up over his wrist until he's able to loop it around his palm and hold it in place with curled fingers. 

Lanying remarks on the movement: "Going to try fixing the leg with your shiny new toy?"

"It's not a toy." Which Lanying knows, but she doesn't take Restore materia any more seriously than her parents, or any of the other medical professionals in Mideel. The skills of the people and the restorative waters of the hot springs - these are the lures that draw the sick and the wounded to Mideel, not any sort of medical magic. "And if it doesn't work, we'll have to fetch your mother out here."

"It'll work," Lanying says, immediately, and Lay smiles to himself. Neither of them would relish explaining to her mother why they were walking alone in the forest in the first place, not when Lanying is supposed to be studying every free moment she has, and Lay has given his word that he won't distract her. Though he figures no one would come down on them _too_ harshly for trying to help an injured chocobo...

He stares at the Restore materia, endeavouring to fix it in his mind to the exclusion of all else; the small green stone becomes the centre of his world, light calling out to him, needing him to activate its power. When he makes the connection it's hazy, imperfect. He doesn't have that level of focus yet, the skill to immediately command it with a second's thought. But he will. It's waiting there for him and when he holds it in his mind he can feel it slowly stirring, healing magic responding to his will.

Now he allows himself to expand his awareness as far as the injured chocobo. His gaze drifts down to the discoloured patch on its leg - and then immediately snaps back up when the chocobo flaps its wings, catching his eye against his will. He blinks at the wild flutter of yellow feathers. It's a shame chocobos can't fly, he thinks. The feathers are such a beautiful shade, so sunny and cheerful and...

The magic, lost without a firm path to follow, begins to drift from his thoughts.

Lay makes a clumsy snatch at it and tries again, determined to keep his mind on the task. He trains his eyes on the injury, imagining the power flowing straight towards it, restoring it to its natural unbroken state. It's akin to a key slotting perfectly into a lock when the link solidifies in his mind. He's on the right track now; it's sluggish but the magic's getting where it needs to go.

And then suddenly it isn't, because despite Lanying's best efforts to soothe the chocobo, it's trying to turn away and its broken leg is no longer where it was a moment ago.

Lay tries not to feel discouraged. This is all training, helping him to build up a working relationship with his materia that will mean faster, more efficient healing in the future. Every setback is merely additional experience gained. He can do this. He just has to take his time, make certain of his hold on the magic before he tries using it - and ensure his patient remains still.

The chocobo's cries of "wark!" suggest that it's regretting its decision to move and will not be turning back again, so Lay moves instead, shuffling until he's once again in position.

"I don't think I can keep it from moving," Lanying says. "I'm sorry. If only we had some food to distract it."

"Ah!"

"Have you hurt yourself now too?"

Lay reaches into the left-hand pocket of his jacket, fishing out a half-empty packet of zeio nuts. "I took Minghua down to the stables this morning so she could feed the chocobos."

The six year-old girl is the most chocobo-mad of the children he sees at the clinic, always talking about how when she's grown up, she's going to be a chocobo jockey and ride in races at the Gold Saucer. Lay makes a point of wheeling her chair to the stables near the clinic whenever she's in for a check-up, and hopes that one day, the doctors will be able to make her dream come true. He regrets that he cannot. Restore materia can only restore the body to the state it was in before, and Minghua's legs have never worked.

"If only you had remembered that five minutes ago." Lanying shakes her head in amused resignation, her dark ponytail bobbing in and out of Lay's line of sight. She accepts the packet from him, catching the chocobo's attention the moment she takes out one of the nuts. It stills instantly, eyes locked on the food.

Lay takes advantage of the chocobo's distraction to pick up the threads of magic still lingering at the edge of his mind. It snaps back into place, more willing now. This time. _This time_. He holds his gaze on the chocobo's leg, willing the magic to reach it. 

Sounds of the nut cracking filter through, not enough to pull him away. He's distantly aware of the rest of the broken bird before him, of his girlfriend gently holding it in place. The power's not his but he's the one guiding it; there's a faint tingle of feedback as it begins to work. It's the only confirmation he has that anything is happening. With the missing hair and the cut, he'd been able to watch them heal, but this injury is largely internal, and it's not until the dark patch on the chocobo's leg is no more that Lay knows he's done.

The bird tosses its head, almost bashing Lanying on the nose, and she lets go at once, backing up to give it room to find its feet. It does - not gracefully, because chocobos aren't built for grace, but without any sign that its leg was broken only a moment ago.

And of course, it still wants food.

"Your patient is a little ungrateful," Lanying says, laughing, as she feeds the chocobo another nut.

"Ungrateful," Lay admits, smiling back at her, "but healed. A few nuts are a good trade for helping me learn how to use materia." He ruffles the feathers on the chocobo's back, pleased with the success of this attempt.

Lanying shrugs. "I can't say I saw any difference between this and what you did with that dog, but I will take your word for it that there is some 'learning' involved. Now, if you were learning how to set a broken bone..."

Lay's been working at the clinic one way or another since he was a small boy. As a child, accompanying his adoptive grandmother on a routine visit, he'd found himself entertaining a waiting room full of people with his antics - a service he'd been more than happy to provide on weekends, singing and dancing to delight the old and the young alike. Growing up, he'd begun volunteering after school, visiting with patients, pushing wheelchairs, delivering meals. He'd learned basic first aid, same as everyone in Mideel, but had never been driven to throw himself into studying medicine. He'll never do what Lanying and her parents do.

But healing with materia... This feels like something he _can_ do.

"I'll leave that to you. And it _was_ different, just a little. I'm getting better at it."

"So will you try it on humans?" Lanying asks. "Think how much faster people with injuries would heal. All those children who insist on falling out of trees and breaking their arms wouldn't have to deal with wearing a plaster cast for weeks."

"Not yet. I will, but... I need more practice first." Lay thinks that if he can be distracted by the simple flutter of a chocobo's wings, he can't possibly risk directing magic into the body of a human. Even an animal is too great a risk, really, though he consoles himself with the fact that he's only tried small, uncomplicated wounds until now. "You won't tell anyone yet, will you?"

"Hmm." Lanying purses her mouth, pretending to mull it over. "Your secret is safe with me - as long as you tell my mother how impressed you were with how hard I was studying this afternoon, indoors, well away from any chocobos."

Lay plucks a stray chocobo feather from where it clings to Lanying's shoulder and tickles the end of her nose with it. "It's a promise."

*****

It takes a few minutes for Yixing to realise, because Chanyeol's ruined clothing hides his wounds, but the Restore materia isn't helping. The tingling of feedback is far fainter than it should be, barely a pinprick at the very furthest edge of his mind. The magic is struggling. Even after all this time in his possession, it's not strong enough. Not to deal with damage on this scale.

He carefully pushes Chanyeol's shirt up his back. It's difficult not to turn his head away from the sight. If Chanyeol's lungs have escaped intact, it's only by sheer luck; the spines seem to have left their mark everywhere there's an inch of skin. The bleeding appears to have stopped and the edges of the some of the wounds have begun to crust, slightly, but that's the only sign that the Restore materia has had any effect at all.

There's nothing else for it. He hates to try out a new materia for the first time on a human being - on a _friend_ \- but there's no time to try anything else. Besides, with a name like 'Fullcure', the materia ought to be able to do something to help even if he doesn't know the specifics of how it operates.

It's already in his staff. He switches his focus to his newest materia orb, identical in appearance to the other one save the name that shines beneath the surface. Making the connection, even with an entirely new materia, is faster than it used to be: his mind already knows how to mold itself into the right shape to touch the magic. The power responds to his call, waking and stretching from its dormant state. 

It's...not the same. Restore feels like an old friend. Fullcure feels like _him_. 

Yixing doesn't waste more than a second's thought to ponder on why that might be, not when Chanyeol can't afford it. He simply accepts, and when he does, when he locks down on the magic that feels like a missing piece of himself, he knows he doesn't need to fear causing more damage with an untested materia. He couldn't, even if he tried.

He guides the healing magic smoothly into place. Here, and there, and everywhere, in too many spots to count. Chanyeol's entire body is awash with the power, mending muscles and splicing skin. Replenishing the blood he's lost, and forcing any foreign bodies out onto the towel where they can do no harm.

"That's incredible," comes a familiar voice from the doorway.

It's Baekhyun, leaning against the frame to keep himself upright. He's a rumpled mess, just like everyone else on the airship right now, but to the best of Yixing's knowledge, he's not injured, and therefore he can wait. 

Not that Baekhyun has ever been any good at waiting for other people to pay attention to him. When Yixing ignores him, he drags himself into the cabin and sinks down heavily on the floor next to the bed, watching Chanyeol's wounds close with an awestruck expression on his face. "It's like you used to heal everyone, _before_ ," he says. "I remember seeing it. Like you're not just putting Chanyeol back together but making him the best he could ever be, you know?"

Yixing does know, vaguely, what Baekhyun means, even if he's never seen it from the outside the way the others have. He only knows how it feels to him, and if that means he's doing the right thing, then that's all that matters. He just nods in reply, hoping Baekhyun won't attempt to engage him any further in conversation until he's finished.

They're both startled by a low groan from the bed. Chanyeol's fingers flex a few times before pressing into the mattress to push him up to his elbows. The blood staining his hair, clothes and skin is back inside his body where it belongs, and so it's a much cleaner face that turns to look at Yixing over his shoulder. He blinks until his eyes focus properly, a sleeper waking up.

"You should probably stay still," Yixing says, amazed his voice comes out so calm when inside, he's jumping for joy. "It's more effective when you're not moving."

Chanyeol doesn't argue, lowering himself slowly back down until he's mostly flat again. "What hit me?" He sounds normal, if confused, with no alarming gurgles or raspiness.

"Everything," Baekhyun says. "Multiple times. But don't worry; Kris avenged you with his tail."

"He did what?"

"You can talk about it later." Yixing lowers his staff, feeling the last dregs of the materia's magic fade away. Chanyeol is as healed as he's going to get, and Yixing only hopes it's enough. "I've done what I can. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just had the best night's sleep of my life"—Chanyeol ruefully shakes out a torn sleeve—"after trying to break up a fight at work."

Baekhyun snorts. "You serve drinks to little old ladies. How many fights have you ever had to break up?"

"You haven't seen Ms. Marchant when she thinks someone's cheating at cards," Chanyeol says. "She's pretty vicious."

He pushes up again, far enough to see the disgusting state of the towel he's lying on, and swings himself off the edge of the bed without coming into any further contact with it. Once he's upright, he examines as much of himself as he can without a mirror. 

"Your shirt's in pieces but your back looks fine," Baekhyun says helpfully. "Not like a pincushion anymore."

"Was I...dead?"

"No." Yixing is certain of this. "You were still alive when Jongin brought us down here. I'm not sure I could've done anything for you if you weren't."

The smile Chanyeol turns on him is brighter than any sun Yixing's ever seen. Even brighter than Lanying's smile when he'd asked her to marry him. He hadn't been able to save her life, but he's saved Chanyeol's, and each life he saves is another miracle performed in her stead. 

Chanyeol's thanks are profuse and spoken down into Yixing's ear as he's swept into a grateful hug. He hugs Chanyeol back, discreetly checking for signs of any lingering injuries as they rock lightly back and forth. Finding none, he allows himself to sag against his friend, the tension of the battle and the aftermath finally dissipating. He can stop now. Everyone's fine, no one's about to die, he can take five minutes to sit down and switch off without worrying that someone might need him.

Or not, because Baekhyun's tugging at his sleeve. Reluctantly, Yixing peers down at him. He's still sitting on the floor, propped up against the bed, although he looks mere moments away from sliding down it and collapsing into a human puddle. The exaggerated sigh he heaves prompts Chanyeol to draw away to check on him, and it's with reluctance that Yixing lets go.

"Are you hurt?" Chanyeol asks, dropping to his knees to give Baekhyun an anxious once-over.

"Not _hurt_ , really," Baekhyun says. "I'm not on the verge of death or anything - not like you were - but it's so exhausting using my powers now. You know how all the tiredness goes when you go back into your orb? Now there's nowhere to go, so you just stay tired. Really, _really_ tired." He gives Yixing a pleading look. "You know what would make me feel better?"

"Vitamins!" Chanyeol says brightly. "I should go see if we've got any on board." 

Baekhyun's quick to dismiss the idea. "Not that. Materia. You feel normal now, right? Not tired or anything?"

"I feel great!"

"Then I bet materia could get rid of my fatigue. Yixing could just-"

"No." Yixing can't usually bring himself to say no to Baekhyun (he's considered asking Kyungsoo for tips, as Kyungsoo has no such problem) but this time his refusal is automatic, a response trained into him by time and tragedy. "I can't do that for you. I'm afraid you'll have to sleep it off."

"But I'm-"

"You're tired." Yixing cuts Baekhyun off as gently as he can, but he has to be firm about this. "Restore materia isn't for giving you a jolt of energy. If you start using it to perk you up..." He stops, trying to keep the memories from flooding in. It's dangerous ground, this subject; not something he wants to explain, not now and not like this. He's already struggling with the memories of his past life, which are just waiting for a quiet moment - if he'll ever be allowed such a thing again - to surface and command his attention. He doesn't need some of the more painful moments of his current life forcing their way to the forefront of his mind. 

There have been occasions when he's thought about it himself, sure. He won't deny that. Times when he's pushed himself too hard, felt that bone-deep exhaustion overcome him, wanted nothing more than to feel that spring in his step again. It would've been so easy to turn his materia's magic on his own body and let it drain away the fatigue. But it's not something he'll ever do; not on himself, and definitely not on anyone he cares about.

_Not again..._

*****

Mealtimes in Lay's house usually involve him sitting around a table with his family, everyone eating a solid, home-cooked meal at a reasonable pace while they discuss how the wheat is coming in this year, and whether the fields are getting enough rain, and if Lay and Lanying have settled on a wedding date yet. (They haven't.) Both Lay's adoptive mother and father work on their farm, and with both of them having siblings living nearby who also work on it, not to mention parents who also help out where they can, the dining room can get rather crowded. It's cosy and warm and Lay loves it.

In Lanying's house, however, there's almost never anyone home long enough to eat together. Her father is always with his human patients; her mother, with her animal ones. Lanying herself is usually at the clinic, or shut away in her room with her textbooks. Meals are eaten on the move, or forgotten altogether. But today is different. Lanying's mother has decreed that she'd like the four of them to have at least one sit-down meal together before Lay marries into the family, and so Lay and Lanying have volunteered to cook.

"It's very kind of your parents to send over so much food," Lanying says, plucking a bunch of carrots from the basket sitting on the counter. Her kitchen is not lacking in equipment, but sees so little use that Lay has had to bring all the ingredients from home. "I must return the favour. Your mother is fond of scented bags, is she not? Perhaps I could make her one."

Lanying's deft, graceful hands are skilled with a needle - an asset to both the doctor she will become and the hobbyist who enjoys sewing her own hair accessories in her rare moments of free time. "I'm sure she'd be delighted with anything from you," Lay says.

The stew they're making for tonight is one of his mother's recipes, incorporating beef from cows raised on their farm and as many of their homegrown vegetables as will fit. Lanying's parents won't be back for a few hours yet; it's a novelty these days for Lay to be able to spend so much time alone with Lanying without him having to quiz her on her studies. They dance around each other in the small kitchen, Lay browning the meat while Lanying begins the work of preparing vegetables. It's cosily domestic, and quite possibly the first time anyone has tried to cook a proper meal in this room.

"I'm not sure how much of this is my mother wanting a family meal, and how much is her thinking I need a break." Lanying's words are interspersed with the thunk of a knife meeting carrots on the chopping board. "Yesterday I attempted to let myself into the wrong house. This morning I spent five minutes staring at a practice exam paper and wondering why it didn't seem to make any sense before I realised that I was holding it upside down."

"You definitely need a break. I could handle the cooking myself if you want to rest? There's plenty of time."

"It is kind of you to offer, but this is, at least, a change." Lanying looks up at him with a weary smile. "And it does not require any great intellectual effort on my part."

"It's not a complicated recipe, either."

"True, but you should probably be the one to read it, or we might end up with far more seasoning than required."

Lay would prefer not to serve his future in-laws something that will make them breathe fire. He pays closer attention to the recipe than usual as he works, occasionally reading out instructions to Lanying when she asks what to prepare next. The small mound of vegetable refuse grows. The sun begins to set, sky blazing with brilliant yellow and orange that Lay can't help but watch.

Lost in the beauty of the sunset, it takes a moment for him to register that the sharp cry in the background is Lanying.

"Parsnips," she says with a grimace, pushing a red-smeared, half-chopped vegetable away from her. 

"How bad is it?" Lay only has to take four steps to reach her - still with a wooden spoon in his hand. "Did you slice your finger?"

"More than one, I'm afraid." Lanying holds out her left hand, which has a slash crossing the inside of four fingers just at the crease of the knuckle. "The parsnip put up more of a fight than I expected, and the knife slipped." She tries to bend her fingers and winces. "In the most inconvenient location, of course."

Blood wells up in the cuts, which look shallow but painful. Lay reaches for the sink, turning the tap so Lanying can wash her hands under running water. The parsnip, he adds to the refuse pile. The stew probably has enough parsnips already, he figures, and if it doesn't, they can live without.

When he retrieves the first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink, Lanying gives him a contemplative look.

"I might not be a doctor but I know how to use antiseptic," he says. "Or would you prefer to clean and dress your own wounds?"

"It's not that I do not have confidence in you." Lanying sighs and turns her injured hand palm upwards, flattening it against the counter. "I am scheduled to practise respiratory examinations tomorrow, and it would be useful to have a working left hand, rather than one which I cannot bend."

"I could use the very tiny plasters?"

"I have a better idea. You have your bracelet with you?"

Lay does, though it's currently stashed in a pocket to keep it from getting in the way as he cooks. "I do, but you know I've only used it to heal animals so far."

"You did say you would try it on humans when you had more practice," she points out, "and you have successfully healed many animals with it already. This is such a small thing, merely a surface wound. I'm not asking you to mend broken bones or cure a disease."

He's done both these things for Mideel's animal population; can do them now without losing his focus even slightly. Healing these shallow slashes, visible on his fiancée's skin, is nothing in comparison. He could... He could do this. If not now, when? He's unlikely to come across a better opportunity to try his Restore materia on a human being.

"Please?" Lanying adds, and that makes up Lay's mind.

He washes his hands before donning the bracelet. He still hasn't gotten around to finding a more suitable home for his materia, so he holds the band carefully by Lanying's hand. "Ready?"

"Please go ahead."

It's second-nature now to forge that link between himself and the magic. It knows him, welcomes him. Pinpricks of feedback reach him when it begins its work on Lanying's cuts, restoring the smooth, undamaged skin, but perhaps the best response is from Lanying herself - who, unlike his previous patients, is capable of speech.

"It's warm! Like water running over my skin!" She flexes her fingers a little, her smile at once incredulous and grateful. "It tingles where the cuts are sealing up, but there's no pain."

Lay is relieved to hear it. While he's reasonably certain he'd have been able to tell if he'd been hurting the animals more than healing them, it's always good to have it confirmed verbally. "Is it localised to the cuts, or can you feel it in the rest of your fingers too?"

"It's not just the cuts, it's..." Lanying taps frantically on the counter with her other hand. "It's everywhere! The magic! I feel so alive! So awake!" She's bouncing on her toes now, more lively than Lay's seen her in ages.

He breaks the link when he sees that the healing is complete. "Awake?"

"Yes! Like I have had no less than a full night's sleep for every day this month. I don't even remember what that is like. Your little magic toy is a marvel."

Lay tucks the bracelet back in his pocket. "I think it must realise that exhausted is not your natural state, and so it restores you in that way too. I had no idea."

He's learning more about the Restore materia every time he uses it, but using it to heal a human - that will allow him insights he won't get with animals, and Lanying seems no worse off for her experience. Far better off, in fact. The shadows under her eyes have disappeared entirely, there's a spring in her step that's been lacking for a while, and even her hair appears to have more of a bounce to it. 

"I feel like I could finish cooking the entire meal myself," she declares, and goes on to do just that.

It's the first time Lay uses his Restore materia on her. It's not the last.

The next occasion is a fortnight later. Lay has seen little of Lanying for several days, due to spending most of his time with some particularly upset children at the clinic and the rest of it having stick fighting lessons from his uncles, who think it's about time he learned to protect himself and his loved ones. They tell him he has a knack for it and say it's obvious that he's their nephew, which makes him feel doubly glad to have been adopted by such a caring family, who don't distinguish between those relatives who share their blood and those who don't.

They don't let sentiment get in the way of a good lesson, however, and it's an exhausted and somewhat bruised Lay who meets Lanying to accompany her home from the clinic that evening. Some days, that walk is the only opportunity they have to speak with each other, so they keep their pace deliberately slow, stretching out the time to squeeze in more words.

But this walk home is even slower than usual, with far fewer words to fill the space. Lanying's gait is more of a languid shuffle than anything else. Lay keeps pace with her, offering her a supportive arm when she stumbles on a stray rock. She leans into him so enthusiastically that he almost falls over himself.

"Sorry," she says, voice dull and drained. "I have been on my feet for most of the day."

It's hardly an uncommon complaint around the clinic, but one rarely heard from Lanying. "Were there a lot of new patients?" Lay asks, wondering if there is anyone whose condition is of a sufficiently simple nature that he could venture offering his services.

"Not so many, I think, but we were short-handed today, and will be again tomorrow, so I shall be starting earlier than usual."

"And staying late?"

"Of course," Lanying says wryly. "You needn't walk me home tomorrow night; I may simply curl up in a corner and sleep until the next person needs me." She finishes with an immense yawn.

"I think you're already asleep," Lay says. He's used to seeing Lanying tired, chugging coffee to keep her professional smile bright and splashing ice-cold water on her face to stay awake. Exhaustion on this level is new, however, and it worries him. 

"Quite possibly."

Their slow trudge home comes to a halt after Lanying stumbles for a third time - over Lay's feet, which means he almost goes down with her - and they pause to rest on a bench. This fifteen-minute walk has already taken nearly twice that, and not for the usual reasons. If Lanying's this knocked out tomorrow, she'll be a danger not only to herself but to patients at the clinic, who can ill afford for her hands to slip or her judgement to be impaired.

"This is a reasonable place to sleep," Lanying declares, closing her eyes fully now that she's safely seated. "You can be my pillow."

"Even if your back won't hate you for it in the morning, mine will," Lay says. 

"Oh, mine will hate me too, but I no longer care. Besides," Lanying snuggles down so her head is on Lay's shoulder, "you could use your materia to fix it."

"It would probably wake you up, too."

Lanying stiffens, caught by the notion. "There's no reason you couldn't try it now, is there? It worked last time, after all."

"The materia? But you aren't hurt, are you?"

"No, but I _am_ exhausted, and you said it yourself, that Restore realises that it is not my natural state. I know this isn't what you planned to do with it, but-"

"It is," Lay tells her, sliding the leather band down his wrist. "Because I planned to help people."

And help, he does, with just as impressive an effect as last time. Lanying all but sprints the remainder of the way back home. Lay only needs to see the restored life in her eyes to know he's doing the right thing.

By the time the next occasion rolls around, Lay has begun using his Restore materia to help out at the clinic. He can't do a thing for any of the patients whose conditions were determined by birth, and many of the others reject the idea of any form of magical healing at all - they say Mideel's not like any of the big cities on the mainland, where there are too many people, always in a hurry and ready to snap up whatever will heal them fastest, no matter what the eventual cost might be. No, in Mideel, they say, the real doctors and nurses are the finest in all the world, and the soothing waters of the hot springs ease the mind as much as the body.

But some of the younger folk, or those who've travelled beyond the island, are keen to let Lay use his materia on them. Some of the travellers are even able to tell him more about materia, once they know he has some, and he resolves to try creating Potions at the earliest opportunity. He hears about other magical items, like the Remedies and Antidotes that can be distilled from Esuna materia - practically non-existent in Mideel but so commonplace everywhere else that they can even be bought in shops. They also sound like useful things to have for healing, particularly when he learns that Restore materia doesn't help anyone who has been poisoned.

He graduates from cuts and scrapes to sprained ankles and bruised ribs, and even, once, a chopped-off fingertip. It breaks his heart when he has to explain to Minghua why he's able to cure her sore wrist but not her lifeless legs. He's not sure how well she understands the explanation, but she insists she still loves him anyway, and that she's going to be a champion chocobo jockey no matter what. He hopes that's true.

Having another healer around - albeit one without much in the way of medical training - helps to relieve the burden on the clinic staff, who have all known Lay since he was a small boy and trust him, whether they approve of his use of materia or not. Lanying's father jokes about him adopting the family profession and tells him it's never too late to train himself up properly. Lanying's mother enlists his help with some of her patients, where she thinks that the animals are likely to do themselves further harm if allowed to heal at a natural pace and could do with a speedy resolution.

Between the farm, the clinic and lessons with his uncles, Lay's kept busy enough that although Lanying should theoretically have more free time, he sees her only infrequently. When he does, she's as worn and hurried as ever, as her studies ramp up in intensity. When she asks for help, Lay takes away her fatigue and cheers her on. They talk fondly on their evening walks about where they might go for a honeymoon on the mainland, and ignore the questions from their respective families about when the wedding might actually take place. There's no rush. They're not going anywhere, and they have all the time in the world.

The first clue Lay has that this might not be the case is when Lanying calls him first thing in the morning and asks him to come over. She's normally awake and out of the house long before Lay rises to join his family for breakfast, so it takes him by surprise when he lets himself into her home with his spare key and finds her still curled up under her blankets.

Assuming she must be ill, he rushes to her side at once. She rolls over to face him. He knows that look. Dark shadows beneath the eyes; skin dull and puffy. He sees it often enough.

"Morning," he says gently, kneeling down beside the bed.

Lanying manages a faint smile. "Good morning." She sounds marginally less lifeless than she had on the phone. "I apologise for calling you out so early."

"I don't mind." And he doesn't, because he'll do anything he can to help her. "Are you sick?"

"Not sick, I think, but I'm too tired to tell."

"Didn't I just use Restore on you yesterday?" And two days before that, Lay remembers. And before that... Possibly three or four days? He's not sure. But he's been using materia on Lanying at least once a week for more than two months now.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, hasn't the interval between healings lessened recently? It's such a quick process for him now; Lanying asks and Lay scarcely has to think about it before it's done.

"It might have been?" Lanying gives a half-shrug. "No, I think it must have been the day before. Yesterday was so long, and I slept so badly last night that I..."

She trails off mid-sentence, but Lay doesn't need to hear the rest of it to know that Lanying's probably not making it to the clinic today without his help. The slide of the leather band down his wrist is automatic by now, yet he hesitates, cupping the materia in his palm.

"Please," Lanying says, struggling to sit up against the pillows so she can meet his eyes on the level. "I know it seems like I have been asking for this more often, and that may be true, but think of how much I've been able to learn, how much I've been able to practise with your help."

"I know, but-"

"And it won't be for much longer. Once I qualify, I will ease off, I promise."

Lay's spent enough time around doctors in the clinic to know that's probably an empty promise, at least as far as work is concerned, but Lanying will no longer be studying for exams, at any rate, so in that sense, her life might become less hectic. They're both motivated by the same thing: helping other people. Lanying is smart, and skilled, and dedicated, and Lay's proud of her for what she does. Despite his misgivings, there's no way he can deny her this now. 

And so he doesn't. Lanying's up in a flash, rushing to dress, and calling over her shoulder that once she qualifies, they'll marry and travel somewhere for a long honeymoon where they can simply relax.

Lay begins to wonder if that time will ever come. He monitors the healing better after that, keeps a careful note of when Lanying asks for his help, and how long it takes her to exhaust herself again. He watches her try to string it out for as long as she can, listens to her empty excuses about how she thinks she might be coming down with something, or how she couldn't sleep because she was up all night worrying about a mistake she'd made. It doesn't take long for him to confirm that the intervals between spates of healing are decreasing.

But she can't stop, so neither can he.

He's starting to dread the early-morning calls. It's as if there are two Lanyings: the driven, enthusiastic medical student who can't stop pushing herself to excel, and the worn, fragile wisp of a creature who can barely bring herself to leave her bed. Knowing that he's the only thing uniting them is uncomfortable; knowing that he's the one responsible for this development in the first place is worse.

One day, Lay rises earlier than usual and sets off on errands for his parents. When he returns, his mother tells him that Lanying called - again - and that she sounded quite upset to hear of his absence. He forces himself to ignore the twinge of guilt and says that she's probably already left for the clinic, and that she'll likely call again later if it was something urgent. He decides it's not an approach to try again, not when his mother immediately thinks that they're having a fight and insists on dispensing her own brand of relationship advice. 

Lanying catches up with him late afternoon at the clinic. She's barely holding herself together, hands visibly shaking when she shuts the break room door behind them. She folds her arms across her chest and stares at him. Lay can only stare back, not knowing where to start. Lanying's fading away before his eyes and he has no idea how to help her.

"You were not home when I called," Lanying says. Lay can't tell if the tremor in her voice is exhaustion or some resentment directed towards him for his absence. Possibly both.

He can't apologise for deliberately avoiding her call, so he doesn't. "I see you made it in without any help from materia. Are you feeling any better today?" 

"I may be here, but..." She sinks down on one of the soft blue couches, which immediately does its best to swallow her up in its cushions. "Will you sit with me?"

"My mother thinks we're fighting," Lay says as he joins her. 

"Are we?"

Lay pretends to consider this. "It would save us having to plan a wedding?"

Lanying offers him the first non-materia-induced smile he's seen from her in several weeks. If he only looks at the way her mouth turns up with amusement, it's easy to imagine that nothing has changed, that they aren't sharing a secret that will only send them spiralling further and further apart. "I suggest an alternative plan: we elope. Our parents would have to forgive us eventually. I believe that would be more fun than fighting."

"If it means you'll take a break and give yourself time to recover, I'm ready to leave right now," Lay says seriously, meaning every word. 

Lanying huffs out an exasperated breath. "Two more months. That's all. Then I will stop, I promise. Help me until then and I won't ask you again."

Lay reaches for her hand, holding it loosely on the couch between them. He wouldn't ordinarily do so while at the clinic, but she's not wearing gloves right now and he hopes it will help to emphasise his point: that he's not refusing to support her, only her addiction. "I will _always_ help you, but I'm not sure this _is_ helping you. The effects of the Restore materia lessen each time, and then you need it again all the sooner. In another two months, will you need it before each exam? Will you even be able to take your final exams?"

"Do you think I haven't tried alternatives? Stimulants do little to help; I sleep longer than I ever have before and wake still tired. I am going to pass my exams, however, with or without your help. I would prefer with."

Although it's not in Lanying's nature to fail at anything, Lay can't see how she'll pass if this continues. She's in bad enough shape now - how much worse will she be in two months? 

"You need a break. Isn't that what you'd tell anyone who came here with your situation? Take some time off?"

"I could tell a patient that, though it would not be possible for me to take my own advice."

Lay sighs in resignation, knowing full well where this is going. When he's alone, it's easy for him to refuse; confronted by Lanying in person, denying her anything becomes next to impossible. Seeing her this worn out and turning his back is like seeing someone drowning in the sea and, instead of throwing out a life preserver or doing anything at all to assist, leaving them to a watery death. He doesn't have it in him. He can deny himself anything, but can't bring himself to do the same for anyone he cares about.

"H-how bad is it?" he asks, faltering, looking desperately for some justification that means he doesn't have to make a choice. "Right now?"

"Let us just say that you do not want me wielding any needles today, not if you like your injections to be as smooth and painless as possible."

Lay's resolve, what little has stubbornly clung to him, crumbles. Lanying will not be the only one who suffers if he says no. He'd been going to leave his materia bracelet at home, to make doubly sure he wouldn't give in, but in the end, hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. He extracts it from his jacket pocket - _one last time_ , he lies to himself.

Avoiding Lanying's calls is pointless. He knows she's trying, doing her best to struggle through; every time he attempts to resist, he remembers the patients who need her, and how by helping Lanying, he's helping them. There's no way he can do otherwise.

Not until almost two weeks later, the first time Lanying asks twice in the same day. First thing in the morning, and then again in the late afternoon, when Lay is playing guitar for some of the elderly patients. Lanying's appearance at the door and her subsequent beckoning are met with knowing smiles (their engagement is public knowledge) and encouraging suggestions that Lay should go see what his fiancée wants, since they surely don't get to spend much time together with her being so busy and all.

Reluctantly, he does. Lanying seeking him out rarely means good news, these days, and when they do get to speak, the conversation is always awkward, both of them desperately trying to avoid discussing her situation. Slowly, they're becoming strangers to each other: two people who once had an entire world to talk about and a future bright with promise. That future is being eroded with each horrible healing. Lay loves Lanying as much as he ever has - but he can't like her very much right now, not when this needy, grasping creature isn't the Lanying he knows but her shadow, desperate yet driven.

"Again?" he murmurs once they've passed out of earshot. Lanying doesn't even look so bad, not nearly as drained as she had in the morning. Yet here she is. "Already?"

"Sorry," she says, voice fully contrite even if her face is not. "My father is performing surgery shortly and has asked me to assist. It isn't... I do not want to take any chances. Not with someone else's life."

"Then don't." Lay's surprised to hear the words emerge from his mouth, a gut reaction he hadn't anticipated. "Tell him you can't. Tell him you'll just observe, or that you're not feeling well - tell him anything you want, but don't touch the patient!"

Lanying steps back, startled. "You are angry with me?"

"I'm..." Lay shakes his head, attempting to sort through the emotions churning inside. This _has_ to stop. He's too conflicted to think straight, though he keeps his tone low and gentle when he says: "I'm not angry. I'm...finished with this. You have to stop. _Please_. Don't keep doing this to yourself - to both of us."

"You won't help me, then?"

"Not like this." Tears sting Lay's eyes; he rubs a hand over them to keep them from his face but can't keep them out of his voice. His other hand clutches the leather band in his jacket pocket, crumpling it in frustration. He won't. He _can't_. He has to stand firm on this and not be swayed by any talk of the patients, or how it'll only be a little longer, or how if he really cared about her he'd keep using his Restore materia on her. "Let's go talk to your father, then I'll take you home so you can rest. Maybe if you stop pushing yourself for a while..."

He stops, weary of treading over the same old ground. There's only so much he can say to persuade Lanying. The decision has to be hers; he can't make it for her.

For a long moment, he thinks she's made the wrong one, eyelids drooping as her chin sinks to her chest in defeat, and he's ready to give up right then and there.

And then her head snaps up, eyes clear and bright as she nods her assent. "We can go," she says, stepping forward until they're toe-to-toe. "I should have stopped making you do this long ago."

The churning inside Lay stops, whirlwind of emotions chased away by a sudden burst of joy. Finally. This whole nightmare can end. Lanying will rest, and recover, and things will go back to normal. When she wraps her arms around him and leans in, uncharacteristically affectionate given that they're in a semi-public corridor, Lay's heart sings a song of optimism at such a volume he's surprised Lanying can't hear it too.

Perhaps she can. She clings, her hair brushing his cheek, breath warm on his neck, and he clings right back, prepared to stand there all day like this if only she won't change her mind again. It's the first time he's felt truly at peace since realising what the materia was doing to her. She's warm and solid in his arms, not the fragile wraith he sees when he visits her first thing in the morning.

Whatever excuse Lanying gives her father slips right past him; it's irrelevant, and what matters is that they're leaving the clinic together. Lay escorts her home, heart still light. It's not even dark outside yet so they pass many more people than usual on their way. Lanying smiles at everyone who greets them. She's so strong, Lay thinks, even when her body is giving up on her.

"You won't crack open a textbook the moment you get inside?" he checks as he prepares to leave her at her front door. "Because that's not restful."

"No studying, I promise." Lanying holds up her keys with a hand that's not even shaking yet. "Look, I'm feeling better already. Just the thought of taking some time off must be enough to help."

It's nonsense, but Lay smiles anyway. "And you'll stay home tomorrow?"

"Gladly. I'll still call you when I wake up - and this time, it will only be to wish you a good morning." 

But the call, when it comes, isn't from Lanying.

*****

Baekhyun's still looking up expectantly, a baby chick waiting for Yixing to drop food into his open beak. He doesn't understand why none is forthcoming. 

Yixing has to turn away. It's entirely possible they'll all die in the next few days, but he'll not help any of them along on their way to an early grave. Not this time.

Lanying's parents hadn't blamed him, not even after they'd realised the leather band she'd been clutching had been his materia bracelet. He'd raced over after the call from her mother to find her body already cold, hand clenched over her chest and confusion forever frozen on her face. When he'd last seen her alive, Lanying's hands had not yet been shaking - had been steady enough to pick his pocket, something he hadn't realised until donning his jacket in the morning. To this day, he's still unsure exactly what went wrong with her attempt to heal herself.

"You should go get some sleep," he tells Baekhyun. "Rest while you can. I don't imagine we'll be in the air for much longer."

He's not worried about Baekhyun swiping his materia and experimenting. It's much harder to sneak off with a quarterstaff than a bracelet - something he'd kept in the back of his mind when transferring his Restore materia to its new, less tainted home before leaving Mideel for good. (And he'd been grateful for the staff, the first time he'd encountered a monster on the mainland.) 

Baekhyun's pout, ordinarily quite moving, does nothing to persuade Yixing to unbend. "Fine," he huffs. "I'm sure I'll feel better _eventually_."

"We could go find Kris?" Chanyeol suggests. "I need to let him know I'm okay."

Yixing shoots him a grateful look. "Jongin put him in his cabin, so he's probably still there. I doubt he'll be awake yet, though."

"Then we can just keep him company until he is," Chanyeol says, and the fond look in his eyes brings back Yixing's memories of all the times Chanyeol and Baekhyun had taken over the small house he'd shared with Kris - _Kevin_ , as he'd been back then - and made themselves at home.

"You go do that," says a new voice from the doorway, and Minseok slips into the cabin.

He looks none too lively himself, as exhausted as the rest from the battle on deck, but he, at least, is unlikely to ask for healing unless he genuinely needs it.

"I thought you said you were going to nap?" Baekhyun says.

"I did, and I am." Minseok eyes the ruined towel lying on the bed with distaste before picking it up carefully by one corner and holding it out to Baekhyun. "In here, once you troublemakers clear out. You can get rid of this as you go."

Baekhyun's expression suggests he's giving serious consideration to judging both the towel and Minseok to a swift and unforgiving death. Chanyeol bursts out laughing and snags the towel himself to dispose of, which only makes Baekhyun glare harder.

"We're going, we're going." Chanyeol meets Yixing's eyes. "You should also get some rest, Yixing. You worked hard today too."

Yixing nods. "I will, but I should check on the chocobos first. I don't think any of the monsters got into the stables but they're probably confused and frightened."

"I think that's the normal state of Jongin's chocobo," Minseok says drily as he ushers Chanyeol and Baekhyun out of the cabin.

Yixing's surprised when he closes the door after them, and more so when Minseok bats his hand gently away from the door handle when he tries to leave.

"The chocobos can wait five minutes. Sit."

Minseok's perfectly capable of picking Yixing up and dumping him wherever he pleases, so Yixing sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. A few more minutes won't hurt. Their chocobos are used to stressful situations.

"If Kris were awake he'd probably be sitting here with you," Minseok begins. " _Before_ , anyway. But he's not, and this time around, I've been travelling with you longer than he has."

Minseok's been with him since his days in Kalm, materia gifted in return for magical healing from a man who had no money with which to pay him. Yixing had never wanted paying for his services, but after leaving Mideel, he'd soon found it essential to support himself - either for direct healing with the Restore materia, or for the Potions he learned to synthesise from it. The money also allowed him to purchase other healing items from shops, things like Remedies that he couldn't make without an Esuna materia. It made him better-equipped, as a healer. 

At least, everywhere except Mideel.

Lanying's parents hadn't blamed him for her death, but neither had they kept the truth from the rest of the town and there wasn't a soul in Mideel who'd accept a magical healing after that. Yixing couldn't have stayed. Sure, he could've gone back to volunteering at the clinic the way he had before finding his materia, or could've thrown himself completely into working on his parents' farm, but his heart - what remained of it, cracked and bleeding and so, so empty - wouldn't have been in it. He couldn't have walked into that clinic without seeing Lanying's face, without picturing all the people she'd never get to help. Even at home, no more little nudges from his mother about wedding planning, no more good-natured ribbing from his uncles about how he'd ever managed to land such an amazing fiancée. There was nowhere he could've gone, no one he could've spoken to, who wouldn't have reminded him of her in some way.

"If Kris were awake he'd try to give me some sort of helpful speech he thought sounded cool, only to mess it up," Yixing says.

Minseok snorts, plumping himself down next to Yixing on the bed. "Probably. He should leave the cool speeches to me; I'm the one with the Ice powers."

"And do you feel okay after using them? I missed seeing that part of the battle but Baekhyun looked exhausted when he showed up down here."

"I'm tired, but fine. Stop worrying about other people for a few minutes and think about yourself, all right? You've done all the healing you need to do right now. Chanyeol was the only one with serious injuries."

"This time. What about next time? What if I don't get there soon enough? What if I can't help?"

Minseok places a hand over Yixing's forearm, squeezing lightly. "You can't save everyone, even with magic. You all but destroyed yourself trying to heal both the Tree of Life and all of us in the past. Don't go down that path again."

"I can't help it," Yixing says simply, because it's not something he can change, and Minseok only sighs.

"I know you can't."

Yixing's walked this path across two lives, has never been able to turn his back on anyone whose pain he could take away. That's more true than ever since he lost Lanying. Were it not for his materia, she'd still be alive, so he heals in her stead. It's a way of keeping her memory close. Better to remember the healer he loved than the wraith she became.

"I wish I could promise we'd all look after ourselves better," Minseok says, "but I think that since we're on what could well be a suicide mission, it would be pointless."

He sounds so matter-of-fact about it that Yixing has to laugh. "Raising the dead appears to be more Chanyeol's area than mine. Perhaps you should be talking to him instead."

"That would involve getting up, and I really do want to take a nap."

Yixing considers the bed. It's big enough for two, easily, and it's not as if Minseok can vanish when he's tired anymore. He's good company, too. Unobtrusive, but plenty lively when he wants to be. "Be my guest."

Minseok kicks off his shoes and stretches his legs out across the covers. "I'll be your roommate instead. And your reminder, I guess."

"My reminder?"

"That you're not working alone here - and you're definitely not responsible for the rest of us. We all made the decision to do this a long, long time ago."

"To save the tree or die trying?"

"Probably both," Minseok says with blatantly false cheer. "But that doesn't mean you have to drain yourself dry to take care of us all. Take some time to look after yourself for a change. Or better yet, let us do it for you. Like I just got Baekhyun out of your hair."

"Your intervention was well-timed," Yixing agrees. Away from Yixing, Baekhyun is more likely to forget all notions of using materia to perk himself up.

Minseok grins, closing his eyes and settling down for his nap. "I can't heal the healer, but I can at least keep the pests away from him."

Perhaps Minseok can't physically cure anyone, but there's more than one way to heal and it eases something in Yixing, that acknowledgement that he's not solely responsible for the health and wellbeing of all twelve of them, that they're watching over him too. Kris has led them across two lifetimes, pulling them forward from the front while Joonmyun, their guardian, pushes them from the back; Minseok does neither of these things but he's the oldest of the group, solid, steady and supportive. Even as a mysterious Summon, always so frugal with the truth, Minseok had been generous with his time and warmth, providing the first real companionship Yixing had experienced since Lanying's death.

Meeting Minseok had set him on this path, taking him first to Junon to meet Jongin and Lu Han, then to Midgar to meet Kris and Baekhyun, and from there... Well, from there to the end of the world, but at least he's with friends, and even knowing what he knows now, he wouldn't trade in that first meeting for anything.

"Don't sell yourself short," Yixing says as he gets up, and Minseok's sleepy laughter follows him out the door.


	3. Disarming Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if the world is coming to an end, Joonmyun will look after his friends and try to give them what they need. (Which, in Zitao's case, is praise and petting.)

Occasionally, Joonmyun finds himself missing Fort Condor. Specifically, having his own lab, where no one could take him to task over his less-than-fastidious housekeeping habits and force him to clean. Not that he's in any way responsible for the current condition of the _Highwind_ \- in fact, as he points out to Kyungsoo, by creating a shield from blood he'd actually lessened the amount of liquid on deck - but that's not enough to get him out of clean-up duty. Sehun helps for a while too, though he eventually admits defeat and wanders off to rest. 

Jongdae's set them down on a wide, open stretch of land by the time they're nearly done, and joins them on the deck with a toolbox. There's a limit to what they can do about the broken railings; nailing parts of a monster-damaged door over the gaps has to suffice. At least they're no longer in any danger of slipping in blood and falling overboard. Joonmyun's ring means he never has to pick up a mop, for which he's exceedingly grateful given the length of the deck, although that's not much help in clearing away stray Boundfat spines and chunks of flesh.

"It's a pity you can't tilt the ground beneath the airship so all the debris falls over the side," he says to Kyungsoo in passing. "It would be so much easier on our backs."

The look Kyungsoo gives him in response could wither an entire forest of trees in a heartbeat. "I could do that, and then leave it to you to explain to our sleeping friends why they've all been tossed out of bed."

Jongdae flings another bucket of broken spines over the side. "You should go for it. Then maybe they'd get up and help." He sets his empty bucket down, there being no more spines in sight, and considers it for a moment before adding: "Except Jongin. I'm not sure it would wake him up."

"Jongin will wake up for dogs, Lu Han and chicken," Kyungsoo says. "Possibly in that order, but don't underestimate his love for chicken." He wipes his grimy hands on a towel, casting an appraising eye over the deck. "I think that's as good as it's going to get. Did you and Sehun finish down below before he abandoned you?" He addresses this last to Joonmyun.

"Less deliberate abandonment and more gradual disappearance," Joonmyun says. "But we did what we could, yes, before exhaustion caught up with him and I let him go."

"You always did indulge him too much." Kyungsoo sounds almost fond. Sehun's the baby of the group; in the past, even Kyungsoo hadn't been above having the odd soft spot for him.

This time around, however, Sehun's... Well, he's different, and no one knows that better than Joonmyun, having been practically dragged halfway around the world by him. Under the circumstances, it's hard to hold that against him - Joonmyun would be nothing more than a dried-out husk on the floor of his lab if Sehun hadn't insisted they leave Fort Condor as soon as possible. There's a small compartment in the back of Joonmyun's mind where he seals away anything he can't spare either the time or the energy to handle at present, only opening it when he knows he's able to deal with the contents.

He doubts he'll ever have the luxury of opening that compartment again. Fort Condor sits squarely inside it, with his friends and colleagues, his work and his dreams, his childhood and the future he might've had, if only things had been different. If only his path in life hadn't been determined for him by a prophecy, reducing his career as a scientist, his relationships with his parents and his older brother, his successes and his failures and everything in between to so much background noise. He can't afford to think about any of that anymore.

At least that's a choice he gets to make. If Sehun had never broken into Fort Condor with the intention of stealing all their materia, he wouldn't even have that. 

Although Sehun's arrival had turned Joonmyun's world completely upside down, he's still alive today because of it. For that, even if he hadn't already been predisposed towards looking after the younger members of the group, Joonmyun would indulge Sehun.

"We could all do with the rest," Jongdae says. "Even by our standards, this day's been ridiculous. I'm going to set the _Highwind_ to blare alerts over the intercom if the sensors pick up anything approaching us, and then I'm going to lie down on something soft and comfortable until the next big emergency."

"Which won't be until next week at the earliest if it knows what's good for it," Kyungsoo says darkly.

Joonmyun concurs. They all need the rest, and all of them except Sehun got their memories back today, which would've been plenty to deal with even without the battle that took place afterwards. But that's something else he's going to have to push to the back of his mind for now, because first there's someone else he needs to check on...

They go their separate ways belowdecks, Joonmyun stopping off to wash his hands before knocking lightly on the door of the cabin into which Sehun said he'd helped a barely awake Zitao earlier. If Zitao's still asleep, Joonmyun will go lie down himself and come back later.

But a sleepy invitation floats through the door, so he lets himself in.

Zitao's still in bed, blinking sleep from his eyes as Joonmyun approaches. He stretches his arms lazily overhead, then drops one down to rest on the covers while the other loops itself around Joonmyun's waist to draw him closer. Joonmyun lets himself be snagged, studying Zitao's face closely for any signs that he's still suffering from his earlier aborted attempt at magic. 

"If you want me to sit down, you're going to have to make room."

Zitao huffs a sigh, shuffling himself closer to the wall to clear space for Joonmyun to sit on the edge of the bed. It's one of the tinier cabins, intended for a single occupant, and not overly burdened with furniture. If Joonmyun doesn't sit on the bed, he'll have to remain standing or face the cold, hard floor.

The bed it is. Zitao has to let go once Joonmyun's seated or risk having his arm crushed. His cloak and chain-strewn black vest have been removed for sleep, leaving his arms bare in a plain white T-shirt. They're a little scratched, and the skin of his hands is reddened, but he appears otherwise none the worse for wear. His boots, Joonmyun suspects, will have borne the brunt of the damage.

Zitao catches him looking. "No way was I going to try punching any of those things. My boots are steel-capped; my hands aren't." The sleep-induced roughness in his voice clears itself as he speaks.

"You put up a good fight against them," Joonmyun offers. "I don't think anyone was expecting you to engage them in hand-to-hand combat." He'd forgotten, until seeing it for himself in battle, that Zitao had been trained in martial arts even before being tapped to guard the Tree of Life and was better prepared than any of them to defend himself without magic.

"It was just like being back in high school, only my opponents today were less ugly." Zitao's face twists briefly in disgust. "Not much less, though."

"I hope your high school wasn't _quite_ as violent as this."

"Only when guys got it in their heads that I had a thing for them and decided they had to beat it out of me - as if I'd have looked twice at any of them anyway. I guess I should thank them for all the practice I got."

"I'm sure none of them were up to your standards," Joonmyun says, meaning it in more ways than one, and Zitao grins up at him. 

"No one's up to my standards, but especially no one in Timber."

Not a problem he'll ever have again, though Joonmyun opts not to bring it up. They have enough to focus on in the here and now without thinking about all the places they'll never see again, and... There goes that compartment, the lid cracking open a fraction. Joonmyun ruthlessly slams it back down.

He changes the subject. "How are you feeling now? You gave us quite a scare up on the deck."

"How was I supposed to know what would happen if I tried to shut it down? It's not like I ever had to before."

Zitao's getting defensive, shoulders set and half-rising from the mattress, so Joonmyun places one hand on his neck, just below the feathery blond hair, and rubs gently back and forth with his fingers until he lies back down. "Take it easy. Of course you couldn't have known. But you handled it very well."

"Really?"

"Really," Joonmyun says. "You managed to control your power and nobody got hurt - except one of the monsters, and I don't think that counts. I'm proud of you for that."

Joonmyun's words are like the heat of a fire warming a block of ice until it melts, Zitao liquefying beneath his hand as the compliments soothe him. It's almost a repeat from the battle earlier, when Zitao had been huddled behind Joonmyun's shield, unable to stop the magical attack once he'd begun it.

_"They won't go away!" Zitao hisses through clenched teeth when Joonmyun reaches him. "I can't stop it!"_

_He's curling into himself, hunched low. Joonmyun worries that the magic is hurting him somehow, screaming to be let loose upon the world and turning its power on him when he won't set it free. Four pillars of flame flicker around him, highlighting the veins standing starkly against his skin, the sweat trickling down his face. The heat from the fires feels almost as solid as a wall around the two of them. They need to fix this, fast, before the ship begins to burn._

_"I'm here," Joonmyun says, laying one hand on the small of Zitao's back. "It's all right, I'm here now."_

_"I can barely hear you," Zitao croaks out. "The fire..."_

_Joonmyun tries to stretch up but Zitao meets him halfway, shrinking himself down even further. The position looks uncomfortable to maintain; Joonmyun thinks he must be in so much pain already, for it to not even register._

_It's enough to overcome their height difference and allow Joonmyun to speak up directly into Zitao's ear. "You can do this, I know it. I'm right here with you, okay? Just lean on me and pull it back. Can you do that for me?"_

_His encouragement elicits a closed-mouth whine from Zitao, high and terrible. It's the sound of a man trying to swallow red-hot coals because he's been asked to by someone he can't let down. It's desperate and anguished and so faint that it travels no further than Joonmyun's ears._

_"That's it," Joonmyun says, rubbing steady circles on Zitao's back, straining to keep his voice even. "You're doing so well for me. I know it hurts but you're strong enough to get through this. So strong, and so brave. Just a little bit more."_

_The agony is written all over Zitao's body, from the clenched fists to the screwed-shut eyes; he's holding every inch of himself taut as he wrestles with his power. Joonmyun keeps him close and murmurs words of encouragement into his ear, providing as much physical support as emotional._

_It's impossible to know if he's helping at all until the four pillars of flame suddenly wink out of existence. Zitao crumples against his shoulder, utterly wrung out from the effort, all his tension gone with the magic and leaving him limp as a dishrag._

_"You did so well," Joonmyun praises him. "I knew you could control it. I'm so proud of you."_

"I'm proud of me too," Zitao says with a self-satisfied smile. "It feels nicer when you say it, though."

Joonmyun has to laugh at that - gently, so Zitao doesn't take offense. "If you're fishing for compliments, you're obviously feeling better."

"I could still feel better?"

Joonmyun lets the hand on Zitao's neck drift upwards to ruffle his hair, never breaking the contact. In this life, they've barely spent any time together at all, yet the familiarity is there, a comforting ghost from the past. Offering Zitao the praise he craves comes as naturally to him as eating or breathing. "And now?"

Zitao doesn't quite purr as Joonmyun pets him, but the sound is uncommonly close for a human. Long and lithe, he's a big cat who becomes a tiny, pampered kitten as soon as there's a nearby lap for him to crawl into. Joonmyun doesn't mind. All the things he's lost, tucked away deep inside where he doesn't have to think about them, but he can at least have this: his kitten, who gazes up at him with warm, sleepy eyes, content with kind words and a gentle touch.

Those aren't things he reserves for Zitao, though Zitao's the one who responds best. Joonmyun had always made a point, in the past, of being available to anyone who needed him - there if they needed a word of encouragement, or had a question, or simply wanted someone to listen. That care and concern had carried over to the battlefield. Joonmyun would gladly have thrown himself in front of any friend in the face of danger, though his control over Water had meant he hadn't often needed to. Kris might be their leader, but Joonmyun is their guardian, always watching over them to ensure they make it to wherever Kris takes them; that hasn't changed just because they've all been reborn. 

It's the role he's chosen for himself. Although there's no escaping the destiny the prophecy has mapped out for him, he can choose this much, and make of that choice what he can. 

Zitao clearly approves of his choice, arching up into his touch with a kitten's gentle headbutts. "I don't think I could've shut it down if you hadn't been with me. It was so hard to focus through the pain and the heat."

"I'm sure you'd have managed," Joonmyun says. "Because I know you couldn't bear hurting anyone you cared about, and if the fires had spread, the others would've been in danger. You'd have found a way to stop it, no matter what."

 _Even if it had meant sacrificing yourself_ is the part he doesn't say aloud. Zitao doesn't do regret well. Joonmyun knows he'd sooner have let his own magic destroy him from the inside out than unleash it on a friend.

"Maybe." Zitao shrugs. "I'm not doing that again. Next time I need to use my power, I'm not holding back."

"You won't have to. Now we know you can't keep the fire from appearing, we know you won't be able to use your magic on the airship. No one will expect you to do that here."

"And when we leave it?"

"Who knows what we'll find out there?" Joonmyun's as much in the dark as any of them. "We'll deal with it as we come across it. We'll all be fighting as hard as we can, and we'll probably be in some very dangerous situations."

"But what if I...uh..."

"Ah." Joonmyun's reasonably certain he knows what lies behind Zitao's hesitant question. "If you have to pull the power back, for whatever reason, you don't have to worry."

"Because you'll be there to look after me, right?"

Joonmyun can't help but smile fondly when Zitao's looking at him with so much unwavering trust in his eyes. "Perhaps one day you'll be the one looking after me. When I'm old and grey and you're still scampering around, full of energy."

"Never going to happen," Zitao says. He's likely to be correct, of course. The odds of any of them surviving long enough to grow grey hairs are low, even if they do manage to save the Tree of Life.

Not that it matters. Joonmyun will take whatever time they have left and do his best with it, for himself and his friends and for everyone they've lost.

"Even if it doesn't, I'll still be there with you," he promises Zitao. "All the way until the end."

_And whatever lies beyond..._


End file.
